Turner's Torment
by the-gilded-eggplant
Summary: As the wedding day approaches, Will finds his affections turning in an unexpected direction. WILL/JACK SLASH, angst galore - savvy? Chapter eight is up!
1. Restless Dreams

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters  
  
Chapter One - Restless Dreams  
  
Elizabeth beckoned to Will from the corner of the candlelit bridal suite. "Will. . . Will, dear. . ."  
  
Across the room, Will was busy arranging his new hat on its rack. He couldn't seem to get the feather quite right. Perhaps it should point upwards â€" ah. Yes. The hat makes the man, indeed, it's just as Jack always â€"  
  
"Mr. Turner!"  
  
Will gave a startled twitch, nearly knocking the feather clean out of the hatband. "Yes, Miss, er, Elizabeth?"  
  
"Won't you come and help me out of my gown?" She planted her hands on the dressing table and bent over, throwing a wicked glance over one graceful shoulder. Her hair, already unpinned, tumbled bewilderingly down her narrow back.  
  
Will turned and took two tentative steps toward his bride. As he lifted his foot to take a third, the floor seemed to tilt away from him. Throwing his arms out for balance, he heard what sounded like waves slapping against the outer walls of the room. Then, impossibly, the windows warped and shrank before his queasy eyes. When he looked again, they were round portholes, through which he could glimpse the roiling waves outside.  
  
Steadying himself, Will looked up to find that the figure now standing before him, though still fairly lithe and feminine, was not, however, particularly clean. The hair trailing down its back was coarse and matted, bound up in a filthy scarf, tucked beneath the ubiquitous tricorner hat. As he stared, the figure turned, and he found himself gazing into a pair of kohl-smudged eyes. "'Ello, fair William," smirked Captain Jack Sparrow.  
  
At that moment, the ship lurched violently. Will pitched forward -  
  
- only to crash headlong back into consciousness as a cart rumbled over the cobblestones outside the shop. He sat up, dazed, to find the fire gone out and the mule snorting scornfully down at him.  
  
Pushing himself up from the dusty floor, Will rubbed his eyes and prepared to face the day. Little more than a week remained before the wedding, and the dreams grew more compelling every night. 


	2. Burning Bridges

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters  
  
Chapter Two: Burning Bridges  
  
Will crouched on the harbor rocks, his eyes fixed on the horizon. All around him, the inhabitants of Port Royale went about their business - selling fruit, grinding knives, marching to and fro in pursuit of solid, terrestrial ideals. His own ideals were increasingly watery, and prone to eluding his grasp. Jack used to watch that horizon. What did he see there?  
  
Since the day, long ago, when his ship had been attacked and he had been set adrift to die, Will had based his life on a few solid convictions. First and foremost, of course, he had held to his hatred of pirates. "I train three hours every day, so that when I meet a pirate, I can kill it." That one seemed laughable now, of course. These days, what with his foppish hats and roguish mannerisms, he felt half pirate himself. Half pirate, yes, and half something else.  
  
The second conviction was the one troubling him today. As soon as he opened his eyes on that long ago day, as soon as he focused them on Miss Elizabeth Swann, he had loved her. He had been dead; she was life. He had been poor; she was riches, and comfort, and warm pans slipped between the sheets of luxurious feather beds. Oh yes, he had seen it all. He had listened at the window as she shared inappropriate confidences with her lady's maid. He had watched her come shrieking out of nightmares, only to reach into her bedside table and stroke the medallion she'd stolen from around his neck.  
  
He knew she loved him. He'd known it for years. Elizabeth was home: terra firma. But these days his attention seemed increasingly drawn to the turbulent seas. He did not wonder that his father had been on intimate terms with Captain Sparrow. The only one who knew his real name. He only wondered if he were worthy of such intimacy himself.  
  
As soon as that thought crossed Will's mind, the guilt returned. Letting out a yelp of frustration, he slammed his fist into the nearest rock. Then he drew a wrinkled piece of parchment from his vest pocket. Upon it was written the faded words of a letter to his closest childhood friend. He had composed those words on the very day of his engagement - the same day he stood and watched the Black Pearl disappear over the horizon. Until today he had been unsure of their truth. Cowardly, you mean, he chided himself. Afraid of the consequences. Now, it was time to deliver the letter.  
  
One hour later, Will returned from the Swann house to wait at the harbor again. He was miserable, racked with guilt, and fairly disgusted with himself as well. I don't even know how to catch a ride to Tortuga, he thought. I can hardly steal a naval ship again. He watched as legitimate crafts passed in and out of the harbor, pursuing legitimate business. I am a complete ass.  
  
Some time later, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to look into the smug visage of Commodore Norrington. "Wishing for the pirate's life, are we? Yo ho, and such?"  
  
Will shrugged the hand off and stepped away. "Don't be so hasty, Turner. It happens that my ship will pass close to the island of Tortuga within the next few days. It may be that I could turn a blind eye to a man disembarking at that point. That is, if the man were removing himself from the life of Miss Elizabeth Swann."  
  
Shooting him a glance of pure hatred - how does he know? how does he already know? - Will gave a brief nod. "Agreed." 


	3. Unsteady

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.  
  
Chapter Three - Unsteady  
  
Will strolled through the mayhem of a Tortuga night. He was unperturbed but alert, one hand on his sword hilt, eyes darting to and fro. He wasn't looking for trouble tonight. Correction: he was looking for trouble, but not the kind of trouble that would creep up from behind and cut his throat without so much as a howdy-do. He gathered his cloak closer around his face, shivered, and walked on. "Turner" remained an unpopular name to some on this island.  
  
A few minutes later, Will caught a glimpse of trouble - the right sort - through a tavern window. As he moved closer a familiar voice rose above the din. "I'm telling you, mate, she was wild for me. The lass ran me ragged, savvy? I was halfway grateful to see that booby commodore the next morning - I needed a bloody rest!"  
  
Will paused outside the door, suppressing an involuntary grin. For once, Jack spoke the truth - Elizabeth had run him ragged that night. She had filled him so full of rum he couldn't tell his beard from his breeches, and then burned the rest of the bottles. Jack probably had been grateful indeed to see the commodore's ship, and with it, the hope of rescue from that bewildering woman.  
  
Will shook his head, dispelling the image, and the grin. What if it truly was a wild night with Elizabeth that Jack was wishing for? But no - Elizabeth had already remarked that the captain's overtures rang false to her. In truth, he hadn't tried in earnest to make a single move on her wet, vulnerable person. When he heard this revelation, Will remembered, he had been obliged to mask his sudden burst of hope. Now, it seemed, the time for hiding was over.  
  
It was now or never. Will took a deep breath and walked through the tavern door. As soon as he caught sight of Jack, he had to restrain a gasp of dismay. The captain's left hand was closed, predictably, around the neck of an obscenely large bottle of rum. His right, however, lingered on the neck of a coarse but voluptuous blonde. He was peering into her cleavage as if he'd lost some treasure there, and hoped to recover it soon.Will felt a flush of shame and embarrassment begin to cover his face. I am an ass, he thought. It was becoming something of a mantra, lately.  
  
Will was considering the best way to make an unobtrusive exit when Jack spied him. For the barest instant, his eyes widened with ambiguous emotion - was it joy Will saw in them, or fear? Then he removed his arm from the wench and waved it unsteadily in the air. "Yoy. He... ho..." Jack coughed, swaying in incoherent surprise. "Will Turner, is it? Hanging back in the shadows like a specter? Come 'ere and join us, boy! Sit!" Jack gave the woman beside him an amiable shove. She rose, pouting briefly until Jack tossed her a coin and a wink, then strutted off to seek another mark.  
  
Will looked at the empty section of the bench beside Jack. Before it could disappear, he forced himself to walk forward nonchalantly and claim it. Jack threw a companionable arm over Will's shoulder. "Gentlemen, raise your glasses to Master Will Turner, the finest pirate that never was!"  
  
"Until now," Will muttered, to himself. But there was no time to brood. Before he knew what was happening, Will saw the bottle of rum sailing towards his mouth. He was obliged to tilt his head back and swallow, as Jack poured a great deal of liquor down his throat.  
  
From then on, things became a bit blurry. Rough faces spun before him. Voices rose in laughter and bawdy song, and sometimes it seemed that his own voice was among them. Through it all, he was aware of Jack's arm around his shoulders; Jack's rough fingers digging into his skin; Jack's warm, boozy breath beside his ear. Now and then a hair bead would knock him as Jack tossed his head. Eventually, Will fell silent and surrendered to sensation.  
  
Then the fingers were tugging at the fabric of his shirt. "Time for bed, love," Jack whispered cryptically in his ear. They tugged each other up into some semblance of a standing position. "Well then, me hearties, we must bid you... a fond... adieu. Mr. Turner and I have some, er, catching up to do."  
  
And with that they were off, lurching across the tavern and through the doors. They proceeded across the town, making a concerted effort to remain upright. Jack alternated between mad giggles and hiccups. Will's sword swung forgotten by his side. Before they had gone far, however, Jack dragged Will into an open doorway. Placing both hands on Will's shoulders, he gave him an inscrutable look. I must be terribly drunk, Will mused. This is the first time he's looked sober to me.  
  
Leaning in conspiratorially, Jack spoke. "What did you mean back there," he murmured, "by `until now'?" 


	4. Intoxication

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.  
  
Chapter Four - Intoxication  
  
What had he meant by uttering that enigmatic phrase, "until now?" What indeed? Will Turner hesitated, unsure of how much he wished to reveal. Inevitably, his thoughts strayed to those last few minutes aboard the Marauder. . .  
  
As he was loading a dinghy with his few belongings, preparing to row ashore, Norrington had taken him aside. "You understand, Turner, that from this point forward you will be considered a pirate and a known criminal. Witnesses will have seen you rowing to Tortuga in order to join the crew of the Black Pearl. Bearing this in mind, if you are ever caught in Port Royal again you will be subject to the same fate as your shipmates." Here, Norrington had cleared his throat and averted his eyes. "I've no wish to see you hang, Turner. Do I make myself clear?" he had asked, extending his hand.  
  
Will had shaken the proffered hand and nodded silently, afraid to speak lest he give his feelings away. Exile! He could scarcely remember passing a day without seeing Elizabeth's face. Now he was banished, repelled by the very rocks beneath her feet. He shook himself, willing the pain to subside. He would miss her, yes, and she would undoubtedly be hurt by his abrupt departure. But to stay, to marry her . . . That kind of dishonesty would have caused her even greater injury in the end.  
  
Returning to the present moment, Will gazed into the bleary eyes of Captain Jack Sparrow. How could he spend his days with Elizabeth, how could he possibly, when every night he dreamed of those eyes? His decision was made. Gently, Will reached up and removed Jack's hands from his shoulders. He continued to hold them as he leaned in for a single, tentative kiss. Then he gave the captain's fingers a quick squeeze, let go, and stepped back. "There. That is what I meant."  
  
Jack frowned, putting one distracted finger to his lips as he considered the situation. "Interesting," he muttered darkly. Then, appearing to reach a decision, he drew a flask from his coat pocket, unscrewed the top, and took a long swallow. After recapping it, he wiped his mouth and arranged his features into their usual expression - jovial, wicked, and slightly daft. "Well then, my lad, I suppose your explanation will have to suffice."  
  
Jack took hold of Will's lapels and pulled the astonished boy roughly against himself. He then delivered a kiss so violent that Will could hear the faint clink of silver and gold as their teeth collided. After this impressive overture, he relented slightly, sliding his hands down to rest on Will's slender hips. Their mouths remained pressed together for several seconds more. Between the rum, the shock, and the sensation of Jack's wind- chapped lips against his own, Will felt shamefully close to swooning.  
  
Finally they broke apart, gasping for air. Suddenly exhausted, Will lowered his forehead to rest against Jack's chest. He let out a sigh, along with an involuntary exclamation - "Oh, Jack Sparrow, you are. . . really something."  
  
"That's Captain Jack Sparrow." Jack released Will and adjusted his hat. Then he set off in the direction of the harbor. "Come on, then." Will pulled himself together and hurried to catch up. They walked in silence through the moonlit town. The crowds had thinned, and the Tortugans still abroad at this hour looked exceptionally rough. Jack wove carelessly among them, sipping liberally from his flask and stealing occasional glances at Will.  
  
It was only when they were face to face in a dilapidated dinghy, rowing towards the Black Pearl, that Jack spoke again. By this time, the liquor had rendered him nearly incoherent again. "Such skin y'ave. . . such eyes." So saying, he tilted his head back, lost his balance, and nearly fell overboard. Will was forced to do the remainder of the rowing, while Jack stretched out in the bottom of the boat and fell to snoring.  
  
As for himself, Will no longer felt the effects of the rum. Since the doorway interlude, he had been under a different sort of influence altogether. To his heightened senses, every wave seemed an earthquake; every breath of salt air was like a bucket of water turned over his slumbering head. For the first time in two months, he felt alive.  
  
Somehow or other, he managed to heave Jack out of the dinghy and over the side of the ship. As his body struck the cold deck boards, the captain awoke. By the time Will had climbed over the railing, Jack was stumbling in the direction of his cabin, humming tunelessly to himself. Throwing an arm around his waist to steady him, Will was grateful to note that the rest of the crew was either absent or asleep.  
  
Once inside, Jack propped himself against the nearest wall and pulled Will to him. Through fluttering eyelashes, he regarded the boy fondly. "Dear William," he mumbled, "fair William." With that, the eyes closed completely, and he slid down the wall into unconsciousness. 


	5. Fickle

Disclaimer - I don't own the characters.  
  
Chapter Five - Fickle  
  
Will awoke to the sounds of creaking ropes and the cries of gulls overhead. He opened his eyes but lay still, staring at the ceiling and rocking along with the gentle motion of the ship. Late morning sunlight filtered in through a porthole, warming his face and suffusing the filthy cabin in a forgiving glow. The boards beside him, however, had long since cooled. They served as a melancholy reminder that he had been left to greet the morning alone.  
  
The preceding night had not been a comfortable one. Too weary to properly tuck Jack into bed, he'd simply thrown some bedclothes onto the floor and collapsed on top of them. At least, in the dark they had looked like bedclothes; by daylight they bore a suspicious resemblance to dirty old sails. Will found himself wondering what exactly Jack slept on, most nights - whatever he happened to land on as he fell?  
  
The captain was quite possibly more rambunctious in slumber than he was while awake. He had thrashed and grumbled, tossed and turned the whole night through. After receiving several painful kicks to the shins, Will had been obliged to remove Jack's boots, placing them safely beside the door. Now, it appeared, both captain and boots had vanished. Nothing to worry about, Will surmised, as he sat up and began to untangle himself from the sail. Once free, he pulled his own boots gingerly over his bruised ankles. Jack did have a ship to run, he reminded himself. It wasn't as if he could give the entire morning over to this. . . dalliance.  
  
As Will walked out onto the deck, he noticed a few crew members. They seemed to be going placidly about their business. Then one of them caught sight of him and stopped dead, staring. "Ahoy, mate, what the devil happened to you?" he called. At the sound of his voice, the other pirates turned. One by one, they looked him up and down and began to snicker.  
  
"Aye, Turner, ye look like Jack himself this mornin'," crowed another man, cackling.  
  
Will looked down at himself, noting for the first time his disheveled appearance. "Yes, well. Have you seen the captain as of late?"  
  
"The whole harbor's seein' 'im, mate! Take a look," said the first man, passing over a spyglass and pointing towards the island. Will put the glass to his eye. Scanning the shoreline, he caught sight of a familiar figure. This figure was facing away from the ship, clearly preoccupied with something in front of him, something he had pinned against a wall. Then, to Will's horror, he saw a dainty white hand snaking around the figure's waist. Attached to a plump arm, the hand was now squeezing the unmistakable backside of Captain Jack Sparrow.  
  
Will quickly lowered the glass - but not before he saw a pair of blue eyes peep over Jack's shoulder to honor the voyeuristic pirates with a saucy wink. With shaking hands, Will passed the spyglass back to its owner.  
  
"Quite an eyeful, eh, mate?" the man leered.  
  
"Oh yes," Will replied through clenched teeth. Were they making a fool of him? How much did they know about the previous night's activities? He scrutinized the faces around him, but saw only innocent, bawdy fun. So they suspected nothing of the captain's more deviant affections. "I think I will row ashore myself," he said stiffly. "I find myself in need of exercise."  
  
. . . .  
  
With cold, furious concentration, Will practiced his thrusts and parries. Shuffling to and fro over the sand, he drove his imaginary opponent back into the water, over and over again. He had been at it for over two hours - surely Jack should have come looking for him by now. What could the man be doing? Did he require no rest?  
  
At long last, Will heard a telltale clattering of beads. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack swaggering down the beach. Ignoring him, Will brandished his sword with renewed ferocity, veering further away from the water line as he fought.  
  
"Listen, mate, I - " Will whirled around, halting his blade mere inches from the captain's cheek. Jack backed away, placing one hand instinctively on the hilt of his own sword. "Don't know if I deserved that." Will lowered the weapon, but continued to glare at Jack, who dropped unceremoniously down on the sand, resting his elbows on his knees. "Now, I don't recall signing any sort of contract with you, savvy?" he began. "I am still a free man, Turner, am I not?"  
  
Sheathing his sword, Will shot Jack a bitter look. "It was `William,' last night, Jack. `Fair William,' in fact.  
  
Jack sighed dramatically, lay back on the sand, and pulled his hat over his eyes. "Drink up, me `earties," he muttered. "Yo bloody ho. Do you honestly imagine that I remember what all I've said after pouring half the rum in Tortuga down my throat?"  
  
This was too much for Will. He turned and began to walk down the beach, towards the jungle on the other side of the island. He would lose himself, he would live on bananas and dress in leaves, what did it matter? He had miscalculated, it seemed. Gravely so. He had almost reached the trees when he heard running footsteps behind him, and felt a hand tugging at his elbow. "Wait," Jack panted. "Just, bloody. . . wait." Will turned, resisting the impulse to wrench his arm away.  
  
The two men stood frozen, staring at the ground. "I am waiting," said Will flatly.  
  
Jack let go of Will's elbow and took hold of his hand, turning it palm up and tracing the lines there with one calloused finger. When he began to speak again, it was in the soft tone he generally reserved for mad ramblings to himself. "You are a mess, aren't you. Bruised and muddled. Just like your father." He looked up then, and Will shivered to see the raw emotion in his eyes.  
  
"I don't understand you, Sparrow," he whispered.  
  
"You don't have to understand me, Turner. William. But understand this: you are in grave danger as long as you remain in Tortuga. As your captain, I forbid you to leave the ship unescorted again." 


	6. Disguise

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.  
  
Chapter Six - Disguise  
  
Elizabeth Swann was angry - nay, furious. For the hundredth time, she  
unfolded the tattered letter and read its contents. At certain passages,  
she snorted and repeated the words scornfully aloud. "Dearest friend.  
find it in your heart to forgive me. never worthy of you." Disgusted,  
she tucked the letter back into her pack. "And absolutely obsessed with  
Jack Sparrow. I might have known."  
  
She had been stewing over the offending epistle for exactly six hours.  
Now, with the sun down and the household asleep, it was time to take  
action. In a neglected storage closet near the servants' quarters she  
had amassed a cache of men's clothing. It had proven useful over the  
years as a means of exploring the colony anonymously; the role of  
governor's daughter was a tedious one at times. She liked to slip out of  
it now and again.  
  
Tiptoeing through the dark mansion, she stole into the closet and began  
her transformation. First she outfitted herself as a poor but honest  
young man, lately fallen upon hard times. Next, with the help of a  
kitchen knife (she had failed to locate the shears), she dispensed with  
several inches of her hair. This she tied into a knot, which she stuffed  
unceremoniously down her breeches. In a cloth bundle, she had wrapped  
most of her jewels, as well as a small dagger, inlaid at the hilt with  
gold filigree. The latter was, of course, a gift presented by Will at  
the time of their engagement. It would prove necessary, she feared - to  
leave it behind would be folly. Still, it was too fine a weapon for a  
humble boy such as herself to carry. To wear it openly would attract  
unwelcome attention.  
  
How could a man be so thickheaded, Elizabeth wondered as she crept out  
the ballroom doors and made her way through the garden. How could he  
know her well enough to give a dagger as a gift, and then leave her  
behind while he set off in search of high adventure? Did he think her so  
very attached to the life of a pampered porcelain doll? As for love, she  
could do without it. That part had just sort of. happened, really. One  
moment she was standing up to the British navy in defense of Jack  
Sparrow; the next moment she was engaged to Will Turner. It never felt  
quite right, that engagement, and she found herself relieved to be free  
of it.  
  
But she would not be left behind to stifle between the stays of a  
corset! That sort of treachery she could not abide. She was determined  
to leave Port Royale this very night, locate Will wherever he might be,  
and give him the slap he so richly deserved. Leaving the Swann mansion  
behind, she stole silently down the peaceful streets of Port Royale. It  
was past midnight, and the only lights still burning were behind the  
windows of the taverns. One or two groggy sailors passed her on their  
way back to the harbor, hardly giving her a second glance. Yes, with her  
height and her practiced masculine gait she could easily blend in among  
them.  
  
Reaching the water, she looked around for a likely target. She spied a  
stout man leaning against a post at the end of a dock. Sporting an  
unruly blonde beard, a belly that threatened to overspill his threadbare  
trousers, and a generally worried expression, he looked sorely in need  
of able hands. He'll do, Elizabeth thought. She walked up behind him and  
cleared her throat, keeping her head humbly bowed. He turned, fixing her  
with a wary gaze. "Aye? What is it? Speak, lad!"  
  
"Please sir," she rasped, concealing her dulcet voice. "I've lost me  
place 'ere in Port Royale. I wish to join a crew. If you could 'elp me,  
I would be very much obliged. Sir."  
  
"Lost your place, did ye," the man grumbled. "And how is that?"  
  
"Me master, er, ate some bad chicken. He passed away Wednesday last, I'm  
sorry to say, sir."  
  
Raising one dubious, bushy eyebrow, the man looked Elizabeth up and  
down. She shrank self-consciously back into the shadows, away from the  
lantern swinging at the end of the dock. "All right, then. The name is  
Captain George Higgins. I do find meself short a hand or two, come to  
think. What did you say ye call yourself?"  
  
"Turner," she replied, automatically.  
  
Higgins blanched and took a step back, looking fearfully about him.  
"That is an unlucky name on the high seas, as of late. Any relation to  
the, er, blacksmith, are ye? A William Turner?"  
  
Elizabeth struggled to keep her posture neutral. Her voice was steady as  
she replied, "Oh no, sir. Diff'rent Turners. My people come by way of  
Sussex. His are Cornish stock, I hear, and -"  
  
"Fine." Higgins dismissed her explanation with a wave of one meaty hand.  
"But ye may wish to work under another name, for a time. Now then, the  
ship -"  
  
Elizabeth risked an interruption. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but is Mr.  
Turner in some kind of trouble?"  
  
Higgins moved closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. "There are  
stories. I've heard tell of a man, known only as the Jamaican. He went  
on account with the Black Pearl in Kingston just before they set off on  
the Isla de Muerte raid. A young man he was; left behind a pretty wife  
and three wee sons. Promised to return with treasure enough to change  
their lives forever. It was not to be. He fell under the curse with the  
rest of the crew - couldn't go back to his family that way. Couldn't  
send them nothin', neither. Times grew lean for them, of course, and no  
one was willin' help them out, on account of their pirate associations.  
  
"Well, the Jamaican survived the curse. They say he hid in the cave  
while the curse was lifted and his mates were slaughtered. Returned to  
Kingston with armloads of treasure, like he promised, but it was too  
late. His wife and sons starved to death eight years ago this month -  
the very month young William Turner escaped the Black Pearl. If they'd  
captured the boy and lifted the curse the first time, he might o' been  
in time to save them. He plans to exact his revenge on Turner."  
  
"You mean, kill him?"  
  
"Nothin' so kind, I'm afraid. They say he wants to inflict one year of  
torment for each of his wasted years - ten years of pain with no hope of  
death." Higgins shrugged. "Then I suppose 'e'll kill the poor man."  
  
Elizabeth nodded, willing her panic to subside. "Permission to come  
aboard, then, sir?" she asked, after a moment.  
  
Higgins inclined his head. "Eh? Oh yes. Granted." 


	7. Surrender

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.  
  
Chapter Seven - Surrender  
  
The situation was patently ridiculous, Will concluded, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes. On the other end of the dinghy sat Jack Sparrow, capably rowing them back to the Black Pearl. He did not look at Will. He did not speak to Will. Though their knees were practically touching, they were leagues apart, adrift in a sea of resentment and blame.  
  
It was difficult now to imagine the Jack of the night before, with his tender glances and slurred endearments. This Jack was all business - though still prone, Will noted, to mumbling nonsense under his breath. "Not worth the trouble," he was saying now. "Not this time." Whatever he was referring to, the sentiment was hardly complimentary.  
  
And what of this bloodthirsty Jamaican bent on unmitigated vengeance? Something rang false about that story. The puzzle was missing a piece. This was, after all, Captain Jack Sparrow, he who had taken the curse upon himself, battled the undead and come back to life laughing. Why should he fear one pathetic, grief-stricken but undoubtedly mortal pirate? Between the two of them, they were more than capable of dispatching such a man.  
  
What was Jack afraid of?  
  
Just then the dinghy gave a jolt, interrupting Will's reverie. They had arrived. Jack began to secure the boat, tying the knots with the swift, sure motions he reserved for nautical work. "All right," he called over his shoulder. "Climb aboard; I'll follow. Meet me in the cabin off the main deck." After a pause he added, "I trust you know the way."  
  
As Will entered the cabin, he averted his eyes from the sails still strewn along the floor. Folding his arms again, he faced the door. Momentarily, he heard Jack's boots thump onto the deck. Then he appeared, still wearing that heartbreakingly distant expression. But - what was this? - he was unlacing his boots, tossing them carelessly aside, coming to stand beside Will. "My apologies for any injuries I may have inflicted upon you last night, mate." He glanced down at Will's ankles. "Shouldn't sleep so close to me. Not very safe."  
  
There was a brief silence as this statement sunk in. Then Will nodded. "It is I who should apologize," he said. "I will not be bothering you again." He turned to leave. Jack slammed a hand against the wall, placing himself between Will and the door.  
  
"Oh no, love. Not another bloody tantrum. I won't have it. I'm afraid it will... not... do." He moved closer with each menacing word. Will retreated, but soon found himself backed into a corner. Jack now stood but a few maddening inches away. His eyes glittered in the dim light, set off by the charcoal smudged around their rims.  
  
"Why?" whispered Will. He could feel one humiliating tear forming at the corner of his eye. "Am I not worth the time?"  
  
Jack let out a mirthless laugh, widening his eyes. "No, you have it all wrong, fair, fair William. On the contrary, _I_ am not worth the time... savvy?" He reached up and rested his fingers lightly against the boy's cheek, allowing the tear to trickle down into his palm. "Your father was a fool, Turner. He loved me like a fool, and he died out of loyalty to me. Again, like a fool. And you are a fool for coming here."  
  
Jack's face was so close now that he was speaking more into Will's mouth than his ear. His actions seemed at odds with his bitter words, as if they were directed by a different force, one more powerful than prudence. "I put you in harm's way when I walked into your life, young William Turner. I'll be damned if I let you put the death of another Turner on my conscience."  
  
Taking the final step, Jack pressed himself savagely against Will's body. They stood that way for several seconds, suspended in the moment. Will could feel waves of heat radiating through Jack's thin tunic, and thought he might melt away onto the floor. He couldn't speak. He hardly dared to breathe.  
  
The captain seemed similarly afflicted. Eyelids drooping, breath shallow, he nonetheless managed a furtive grin before pronouncing his next statement. "As you seem determined to remain in harm's way, however, I've no choice but to look after you." A pause. "Which means I'm not letting you out of my sight."  
  
Then prudence gave way, and there were no more words. There was only Jack's tongue, darting out to glide along Will's lower lip. Jack's hands, loosening Will's hair and grabbing great handfuls of the silky locks. Jack's arms, pulling Will roughly downwards until they came to rest on the cabin floor, entangled in the sails once again.  
  
Fleetingly, Will found his voice again. "I would do it, Jack," he sighed. "I would gladly die for you." Slowly and deliberately, he bit down on the lobe of one enticing ear.  
  
From beneath him there was a gasp, followed by a soft chuckle. "I believe you've said that to someone before."  
  
Then the words evaporated again in the heat of their embrace. They spoke no more that day. 


	8. Treachery

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.  
  
Chapter 8 - Treachery  
  
Elizabeth cursed her smooth, white, aristocratic hands. They were currently blistered and raw from several hours of vigorous deck scrubbing. With such a small crew, it seemed odd that clean decks should be a priority. Should they not spend more time keeping the vessel seaworthy and pointed in the correct direction?  
  
Early that morning, Higgins had set her the task of washing every horizontal surface on the ship. Further specifying that the work she be performed on her hands and knees, he had spent most of the day finding excuses to watch her from behind. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his bland, appreciative leer. It gave her ideas, that leer.  
  
As for the rest of the crew, they seemed to spend a considerable portion of their time drinking and carousing below deck. They were young, handsome layabouts, to a one - clearly more at home in a hen house than a crow's nest. It was clear that they had been chosen for the same quality that had won Elizabeth her job. Unlike her, however, they snickered at Higgins behind his back, and ignored both his leers and his feeble attempts to give them orders. It seemed the captain had a weakness for beautiful young men, and Elizabeth felt certain that one day it would cost him his ship. It was a wonder the vessel stayed afloat now.  
  
But float it did - in the wrong direction, as luck would have it. The Merry Widow was bound for England. That did Elizabeth no good at all. She would have to find some way to change its course, and quickly. Will's predicament sounded rather dire. Knowing him, he was probably blissfully unaware of the danger, mooning around Tortuga with little thought for anything but Jack Sparrow (well, perhaps that and his newfound passion for flamboyant hats). The sooner she saw to his safety, the better for all involved.  
  
Elizabeth waited until nightfall to act. When the other sailors invited her to join in their debauchery, she made an excuse to slip away and look for Higgins. She found him, as expected, leaning wearily over the wheel at the front of the ship. He was, of course, obliged to do most of the navigating himself on this ship of fools. He straightened now, hearing her approach.  
  
"Evenin', captain," she said, half-bowing and touching a hand nonsensically to her head. It was fortunate that no one stood on formalities here. Her grasp of nautical etiquette and forms of address was tenuous at best.  
  
Higgins turned to face her, keeping one hand on the wheel. "Good even' to ye, young Turner. What brings ye above?"  
  
Elizabeth mustered a blush. "Well, beggin' your pardon sir, but I 'oped. that is, I've always wanted to try." She trailed off, gesturing shyly at the wheel.  
  
The captain brightened. His smile, for once, was paternal rather than predatory. "Want to have a go, do ye? Step up, lad."  
  
Elizabeth stepped in front of Higgins, allowing him to put his hands on her shoulders and center her body before the wheel. In her own hands she concealed a pair of shackles, a souvenir pilfered from one of the shady young rascals below. Judging from his state of inebriation this evening, he wouldn't be missing them for a few hours at least.  
  
"Right. First ye face the wheel dead on, like so. Plant your feet. Relax your shoulders. (What shoulders they are! And such a smooth, white neck above 'em)," said Higgins, muttering the last part to himself. His paternal mood had evidently been short-lived. She could feel his belly pressing against her back now, and his breath moistening her ear. As he reached for her hands she moved, clapping the shackles over his wrists. Before he could react she ducked down through his arms and stepped free. Only then did she take the dagger from its hiding place in her boot and touch its point to the captain's neck.  
  
Higgins slouched, assuming his customary posture of defeat. "What is it ye want, lad? I've no manner of gold or jewels aboard," he sighed.  
  
"I do," Elizabeth rejoined. "And I will pay you handsomely, if only you will kindly do as I say." In her urgency, she had lapsed back into the haughty diction of a governor's daughter. "You will turn this ship around. You will sail it to the island of Tortuga. There, you will anchor and I will row ashore. You will wait three days for me. If all goes well, I will give you a signal at that time. Then you may continue on your way."  
  
"I should have known ye'd be trouble. Not even a boy, are ye. Never thought I'd be trapped by the wiles of a strumpet like yourself. Still." The captain tilted his head, considering. "Ye have me cornered, and I need the gold besides. What do I tell the crew?"  
  
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I doubt very much that they will notice the change." 


End file.
